


maybe in another life

by cptxrogers



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Denial, Hallucinations, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 09:06:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11871081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptxrogers/pseuds/cptxrogers
Summary: After Thanos kills Tony in battle, Steve struggles to cope.But it's okay, because he knows that Tony will come back to him soon.





	maybe in another life

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Čeština available: [Možná v příštím životě](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11903898) by [secretsuperhero1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretsuperhero1/pseuds/secretsuperhero1)



When Steve thought back to that day, he memories felt unreal, as if he were watching a movie about someone else’s life.

He’d seen Thanos grab Tony by the neck. He heard the tortured wrenching of the armor even over the sounds of the battle. Thanos had looked down at Tony with a distasteful grimace and tossed him aside with no more consideration than if he were swatting a fly.

Steve had seen Tony flying through the air, impacting a concrete wall hard enough to smash it, heard the sickening screech as rubble and debris rained down on top of him.

He vaguely remembered sprinting towards the pile, throwing chunks of concrete and metal aside, digging until his knuckles bled and stuck to the inside of his gloves.

But mostly he remembered that when he found Tony, his armor was split by deep, ugly gashes and the ground beneath his body was stained crimson.

The arc reactor had sputtered and gone dim, and when he ripped the faceplate off the suit, Tony’s eyes were blank and vacant, staring at nothing. He wasn’t breathing.

He’d heard someone yelling, then realized it was him. The sounds of battle faded into the background as he stared in horror at the crushed shell of Tony’s armor lying in a pool of blood.

It might have been hours later that he felt a hand on his shoulder. The streets around them were quiet and it was dark. “Steve,” Natasha said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, “He’s gone, Steve.”

No, Steve decided. No, he would not accept this. Not when they had finally managed to mend the rift between them, to start trusting each other and working together again. Not when they had only just found their way back to each other.

He was going to save Tony. He was Captain America, and saving people was what he did.

 

* * *

 

Since then, he’d dreamed of Tony every night. Sometimes he was watching Tony fall, reaching out to catch him but feeling the suit’s metal fingers slip through his own. But most nights he dreamed of ordinary days in the tower. The two of them cooking dinner or watching a movie. Steve standing in Tony’s workshop and admiring the creative chaos.

In his dreams, Tony would smile and rag him for being so concerned. “I’m doing just fine,” he’d say with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t worry about me. And don’t worry about you either. You won’t be alone for long.”

“Tell me what to do,” Steve begged. “I’ll do anything. Please. Just tell me how to bring you back.”

Tony shrugged one shoulder. “Wish I knew, Cap.”

 

* * *

 

There had been a memorial service. Some big event in New York, where most of the superheroes on the planet had turned out to pay their respects to Tony.

Rhodes had given a speech. It had probably been very moving.

Steve didn’t go. What was the point in memorializing Tony? He’d be back soon. As if the minor issue of death could ever keep a man like Tony Stark down.

Tony was coming back, Steve knew. He wasn’t going to mourn him.

 

* * *

 

Steve had heard it first. The team had been fighting off an army of Doombots who were marching on Central Park for god only knew what reason.

Thor was in the air, firing down lightning strikes which ignited the robots while Sam circled below him and picked off any stragglers.

Nat and Clint were making their way to Doom’s underground bunker to take him out at the source. Steve and Bucky were on the ground, protecting civilians and herding the Doombots into the range of Thor’s attacks.

A stray blast flew past his ear, and suddenly pained blossomed in his shoulder as an energy beam clipped him. He staggered, pain whiting out his vision for a second.

“Steve!” He could hear Bucky yelling. But there was something else too, just on the verge of his hearing: the high pitched whine of repulsors.

Steve smiled to himself as he dropped to his knees. That sound was so familiar, it felt like he had been waiting for it to be back in his life. Everything was going to be okay.

When he opened his eyes, he didn’t see a streak of red and gold armor, didn’t hear a teasing voice over the comms. There was only Bucky, running towards him and grabbing up the shield to cover him from the Doombots.

There was no sign of Tony, but Steve had heard him. He knew what that meant. It meant that Tony was alive, and that he was coming back.

 

* * *

 

The next time had been late at night. Steve had been working through a thick stack of reports, trying to finish them before the team meeting tomorrow. The team needed him to lead. They needed him to be strong. He had to protect them now.

His left eye was twitching again, like it always did when he was tired. The words of the report he was reading swum and dissolved into incomprehensible scribbles.

He stared at the paper, wondering why it seemed so far away. Why everything felt liquid and illusory, like the edges of the room were dissolving around him.

Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him. Someone ran a hand soothingly across his shoulders.

“Hey, Cap,” a familiar voice said warmly. “Miss me?”

 

* * *

 

“It’s called dissociation,” Sam had told him. “It’s a coping mechanism for trauma. You’re not bad or weak for experiencing this.”

Steve nodded along. He wanted to humor Sam, even though Sam clearly didn’t understand.

“But Steve, this isn’t healthy. To do what you do, you need to be able to distinguish fantasy from reality. You need professional help.”

“I can still do my job,” Steve snapped.

“I don’t care about your job, I care about you. If you don’t deal with this, you could hurt someone.” Sam looked grave, but his words were meaningless. The people around Steve always ended up hurt in any case. There was nothing he could do about that.

“You’ll get yourself killed,” Sam said, worry etched around his eyes.

Good, thought Steve. At least that way he could see Tony again.

 

* * *

 

Another day, another mission, each one blending into the next in an endless parade of drab violence. Identify the target, take down the target, rinse, repeat.

It was like walking underwater. Everything was distant and unimportant.

They were fighting off a gang of demons summoned from some hell dimension or other, filthy creatures which spat flames and had sharp, venomous claws. Steve kicked one away from him, bringing his shield down hard onto the head of another.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw a warm blue glow reflected off bright shiny red metal. Steve’s heart raced as he scanned the area and saw Tony pinned down by a group of demons.

The beasts were converging on him fast, piling atop one another to get to him. Steve didn’t stop to think, throwing himself out of cover and towards the center of the fighting.

“Steve!” Natasha’s voice carried sharply across the battlefield. “Steve, get back here! It’s not safe!”

He ignored her. He had to get to Tony. Why couldn’t she see that Tony needed their help?

As he raced toward the pile of demons, slinging his shield ahead of him, he glanced round and caught sight of Natasha. She didn’t look angry anymore. Now she just looked sad.

 

* * *

 

Steve needed to know more. He needed to know how to help Tony; whether he should be building a portal to transport him or casting a spell to guide him or merely waiting for him to find his way home. He had to see Stephen Strange.

His trip to the New York Sanctum took longer than he would have liked. Being poked and prodded by Strange and being run through a battery of tests reminded him unpleasantly of being a lab rat. It was odd that Strange spent more time scanning him with medical equipment than he did testing him with magical implements.

“You must listen to me,” Strange said in a firm tone once the testing was done. “These visions are not mystical in nature. They are psychological.”

“Did your magic tell you that?” Steve asked sarcastically, the disdain showing clearly in his voice. As if he needed a sorcerer to explain the world to him. He should have know that Strange wouldn’t understand.

“No, Captain, this is not magic, this is neurobiology. You have aberrant activity in your primary visual cortex. It is causing you to see things that are not there. These hallucinations lead you to believe that Tony is alive and with you, but he is not. You need to accept this.”

That was the problem, though, wasn’t it? Steve didn’t  _believe_  that Tony was alive. The evidence against it was overwhelming. But when he saw Tony, he  _knew_  that he was here with him. This knowledge was more certain that anything else in his life. How could he ignore it? How could he abandon Tony again?

 

* * *

 

It had been a long day, and it felt good to unwind. They’d trained hard this morning; they had earned a break.

Tony was telling a silly anecdote about the time he’d been chased from a fancy hotel by a pack of tabloid reporters who thought he was romancing the Chilean president’s wife. Steve laughed as Tony described hiding out in a cleaning closet and trying to make his escape.

Tony always had such good stories. Steve loved the way he told them, so energetic and self-effacing and full of life.

Steve was still giggling when he heard the door open behind him. He tried to hide his annoyance at the interruption and turned to see who it was.

Bucky walked in, his face pinched. “Steve,” he said very gently. “Steve, you’re doing it again.”

 

* * *

 

Steve woke up feeling, for once, warm. No dreams of the ice or of falling, at least none that he remembered. The bed was snug and comfortable.

He rolled over to see Tony, his hair mussed and his eyes still half asleep. “Morning, Cap,” he mumbled with a soft smile.

Something nagged at the back of Steve’s mind. There had been something that he was supposed to do today.

“Morning, Tony,” he said and reached over to brush the hair from Tony’s forehead. Tony turned his face and nuzzled against Steve’s hand.

Ah well. Whatever he was supposed to do probably wasn’t important. He would stay here, with Tony, where it was safe and cosy.

 

* * *

 

Someone was hammering on his door. Steve tuned it out. It was probably just Fury come to lecture him some more. Or one of his teammates, trying to smile but failing to hide their pity when they looked at him.

Steve didn’t need anyone’s pity.

What time was it? The blinds were drawn, but a dull, sickly light leaked into the room.

Eventually, the banging on the door stopped and Steve let out a breath.

He turned to look at Tony. “They don’t understand,” he said flatly.

Tony sighed and took Steve’s face in his hand, running a thumb across his cheek. “They don’t,” he agreed.

“It’s not fair,” Steve said, and it wasn’t like him to be petulant but he was so sick of losing everything. “We deserve to be happy. When do we get to be happy?”

Sadness flickered across Tony’s face for a second before it was hidden behind a too-casual shrug. “Maybe in the next life,” he said.

 

**Author's Note:**

> YIKES that was a bit angstier than I usually do. I'm working out some issues apparently.
> 
> This fic has a tumblr post [here](http://cptxrogers.tumblr.com/post/164453530179/maybe-in-another-life).


End file.
